


Falling

by CaptAcorn



Series: Home [7]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Lonely Klingons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:47:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn
Summary: Story six from the Home Series! Doctor Shovar of the House of Kretahl did not consider himself an intimidating person. But as one of the few Klingons in Starfleet and the only one on his ship, he was a lonely one.Someone is about to change that.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for everyone that's come along for the ride, with a special shoutout to those that have left kudos and comments! Please see full acknowledgements in the first story, Fresh Start.

Shovar of the House of Kretahl did not consider himself to be an intimidating person. After all, he'd been mocked on Qo'noS _,_ as a child, for showing concern for the injuries he'd inflicted on his adversaries in playground scuffles. And during his compulsory year in the Defense Force, his superior had told him he lacked 'a killing instinct.'

"Your skills with the  _bat'leth_  are impressive, Shovar," Commander ChoghHaq had told him. "But they are useless if you are unable to deliver the deathblow!"

Shovar had been nonplussed. "These are training fights,  _qaH_. My opponents are my comrades."

"But one day they won't be!" ChoghHaq shouted, more in exasperation than anger. "And you will not be ready! After thirty years of training striplings for battle, I know these things. The life of the warrior is not for you."

Shovar couldn't argue with that. He also couldn't argue with old ChoghHaq that he lacked a taste for bloodletting. He was much more interested in how blood  _functioned_ , as well as hearts and lungs and brains. His father — who loved him and tried to understand him, but generally failed miserably — suggested he consider the healing arts once he was released from the KDF.

"The Klingon Medical Authority is changing the field," his father declared when Shovar expressed that he was interested in something deeper than stitching up wounds and setting broken bones. "There is more to Klingon medicine now than there once was."

Not much more, Shovar discovered when he looked into the Authority's top-rated training school. There was an entire seminar on the best ways to commit the  _Hegh'bat_  and with which diagnoses it was the only honorable option.

"I am sorry, Father," he'd said, and he truly had been. "But I wish to learn other ways to relieve suffering beyond ritual suicide."

So with his parents' baffled but freely given support, he'd applied for a placement at Starfleet's medical school. He graduated with high honors, and was only the fifth Klingon to become a Federation-sanctioned physician. His heritage, however, wasn't really an issue in the early years of his career. At school, he'd established his academic prowess quickly; during his residency and fellowship in San Francisco, he'd become well-known for his clinical instincts and extensive knowledge in a number of specialities. The fact that he was Klingon had become the least interesting thing about him, in Terran medical circles.

But, professionally speaking, he'd become bored. Developing new surgical techniques, helping patients — it was all well and good, but there was rarely much in the way of the unexpected at Earth's hospitals. When he mentioned this to his mother, she became hopeful. She took it as a sign that her firstborn intended to return to Qo'noS and prepare himself to take over their house upon his father's passing, as had always been the plan. "I knew you would grow tired of healing, Shovar."

Sadly, Shovar had to disappoint her once again. Katherine Pulaski, who'd been a mentor and a friend for years, suggested he apply for a position on a starship. "You certainly have the right skillset," she told him. "And I promise, it's rarely dull."

He'd made his request and was assigned to a tactical vessel, the  _Lozen_. "Just be forewarned," Pulaski had said to him at his going away party. "Attitudes on a starship can be a bit different than on Earth. Sometimes better — the crew has usually been exposed to far more species than those that stay planetside. But sometimes, depending on what those experiences were like, things can be a bit… rocky at first."

Shovar had politely brushed off her concerns. So it was a mostly human crew. He'd lived amongst humans for nearly ten years at this point, most of the doctors he'd trained under had been human. He was used to them and their foibles. It wasn't as if Shovar were the first Klingon in the 'Fleet.

As it turned out, they were both right. None of his new shipmates were hateful or otherwise

inappropriate. But nearly all of them seemed utterly confounded by his choice of career.

"Oh," said the  _Lozen_ 's transporter chief when he'd first arrived, her eyes wide as they traveled up Shovar's body and took in his considerable height. "I think I've made a mistake. I was supposed to be bringing aboard our new Chief Medical Officer. Just wait there, sir, and I'll contact the station. We'll have this figured out in a moment."

_Is this human an idiot? Does she not see the color of my uniform or that the name of her new CMO is Klingon?_  But Shovar knew humans well enough to know the ignorant woman wouldn't appreciate this line of questioning. He stepped from the pad. "There has been no mistake, Crewman. I am Doctor Shovar." She continued to stare at him, her mouth agape. "The new CMO."

This first inauspicious meeting was only an indicator of things to come.

"Aside from my own staff, the crew seems to think I should only be content in Security or at Tactical," Shovar told Counselor V'Laan after they finished their weekly anbo-jyutsu session. "They continually express surprise at my profession, as if they know my preferences better than I."

The half-Vulcan woman was one of the few on the ship that could come close to matching him physically, but a particularly frustrating day had led Shovar to fight with more aggression than usual, leaving V'Laan on the floor, panting and sweaty. "They will eventually accept you as you are," she said, as she pulled off her helmet. "You must be patient."

"It has been five weeks!" He offered his hand to her to help her rise, but she waved him off.

"You must admit, Doctor," V'Laan said as she climbed to her feet. "Medicine is an unusual career choice for a Klingon."

"As unusual as counseling for a Vulcan?" Shovar grumbled.

V'Laan's mouth quirked. "As you may recall, I was raised on Earth."

"Humans," Shovar growled. "They preach about their open-mindedness, opportunities for all, the limitless possibilities of life in the Federation. But it only seems to apply to themselves. The rest of us —  _we_  belong in the boxes they have created for us in their heads. Vulcans are scientists, Klingons are warriors. How many of the crew have resisted your counseling because of your mother's race? Yet you've lived most of your life on Earth surrounded by Terrans! You understand them better than they do themselves!"

"Serving with a primarily human crew does require a certain forbearance," V'Laan conceded. "But what would you do instead? Live on Qo'noS and let your training go to waste? Go back to Earth and be bored in a research laboratory?"

Shovar had to admit that V'Laan was right. He did, at least, enjoy the  _work_. And his crewmates' provincial attitudes about his race did not truly affect their professional interactions. But… he was lonely.

Klingons, by and large, were social creatures. Houses were multi-generational affairs, Klingon Birds of Prey afforded their crew little privacy and most preferred it that way. But on the  _Lozen_ , Shovar had little to fill his off-hours. The command team was not the sort that socialized. And though V'Laan was demonstrative for someone with Vulcan ancestry, (he had once made her laugh) there was only so much of the counselor's company Shovar could take before he wanted to turn the woman upside down to see if  _that_  might disrupt her perpetual serenity. The rest of the crew seemed to find him either terrifying or a curiosity to be observed from a distance. It felt unnatural to Shovar, to spend so many nights alone, with nothing but his own thoughts for company.

So he buried himself in his work and occasionally scanned the 'Fleet listings for available postings. It was possible that it was just this ship. It was possible that if he transferred to another vessel, he would form some more personal connections. Maybe he could even get a ship stationed near the borders of the Empire and visit his homeworld more than once every three or four years.

One afternoon, he sat in his office, trying to catch up on a backlog of reports and routine health checks of the crew — his least favorite part of being a CMO. It had been a busy week — the  _Lozen_  had offered assistance to a Xjbiloui science vessel that had been beset by a series of plasma leaks from their warp drive, and the injuries to its crew had been extensive. He frowned when he noted an oversight. They'd taken on four new crewmembers at DS6 the day before the  _Lozen_  had responded to the Xjbiloui distress call. None of the new personnel had reported, as required, for their initial exam.

Four new shipmates, which meant four more versions of the same 'conversation' he'd had a hundred times before: " _You're_  the ship's doctor?" "I didn't know there were Klingon physicians!" "I met Commander Worf once! Do you know him?"

"Wonderful," Shovar grumbled to himself, then shook his head when he thought of what his mother would say to see him sarcastic and self-pitying.  _So human now._  He really  _had_  spent too long away from his home and his people.

He had just opened up the file of the first new officer when the ship gave a low shudder. His pulse quickened.  _We've been attacked._  The  _Lozen_  was on a peacekeeping mission in the Jxybilouni sector, trying to negotiate a treaty between the Xjbiloui and the Jxyloni. Things had not been going smoothly. The red alert sounded and Shovar bolted into the main sickbay, barking orders to his staff to prepare themselves for any possibility.

As was his preference, Shovar opened a one-way comm with the bridge so they could follow the action. It was the Jxyloni, no doubt seeing the  _Lozen_ 's decision to assist the Xjbiloui's science vessel as a show of favoritism. The beginning of any red alert was a tense time in Sickbay. The medical team had little to do initially and, in fact, may have nothing at all to do if the battle favored the  _Lozen_. So they stood or paced, kept one ear on the comm and their hands engaged in busywork, all of them trying to find an outlet for the nervous energy that crackled through the room.

Today, they didn't have long to wait. A series of direct hits to the port side had caused an EM surge to the auxiliary tactical station, injuring three security officers. Shovar was soon engrossed in the work of triage and stabilization. Clearly the Jxyloni weapons' technology had found a way to get past Starfleet shielding, because within minutes, two bridge officers were beamed in as well.

Shovar was just offering a quick reassurance to a young ensign he was treating for extensive plasma burns when he heard a commotion from the other side of the bay.

"Who the fuck had me transported here?"

"Doctor Shovar! A little help, please!"

Shovar turned to see his intern struggling to keep one of the bridge officers reclined on a biobed. The woman wore a yellow uniform, so was likely a tactical officer. She also appeared to be about to punch his junior doctor in the jaw. Shovar moved to intervene.

When he reached the bed, he pushed the unfortunate intern to the side, directing him to help the other injured. Shovar ignored the blare of the alarms and the urgent calls amongst his staff and stared down their reluctant patient. One advantage to being a Klingon physician was that he towered over most of his patients — one look generally assured rapid and complete compliance from even the most obstreperous officer.

This woman didn't even blink.

"We are in the middle of a goddamn firefight and I am the chief tactical officer!" she barked at him. "So I'd appreciate it if you would let me off this fucking bed and transport me to the bridge where I belong!" She took two panting breaths through her nose. "Please."

She had forehead ridges. Subtle ones, to be sure. But there was no doubt that the woman sitting on the biobed in front of him, her right leg bent at an unnatural angle below the knee, was part-Klingon.

"Your leg is broken," Shovar said, in the reasonable doctor voice he'd cultivated over the past ten years. "You will be useless on the bridge, as you will be unable to even stand at your post."

"Then I'll get a fucking stool!" she growled. "Just beam me out of here so I can do my job!"

"You could be the captain herself and it would mean nothing to me!" Shovar snarled back at her, his patience at an end. Five injured officers, more likely on the way — he didn't have time for this woman's attitude. "You will stay on that bed and you will allow me to do  _my_ job! That's an order!"

"And just who do you think you are?" the woman demanded.

"The Chief Medical Officer!" Shovar roared back, and the red alert stopped.

He blinked for a moment at the sudden change of lighting. The whole room stilled as Captain Charles made her announcement that the Jxyloni ship was a rogue vessel, and had been subdued with the assistance of their governmental authority. Shovar turned back to his patient, regretting his earlier outburst. "It appears that your services are no longer urgently required, Commander," he said, his tone conciliatory as he took in the three pips on her collar. "If you lie still, I can have you fit for duty in less than an hour — if you promise to use a 'fucking stool,' as you put it."

Now, with the lights on full and the heat of the battle abruptly cooled, the woman looked rather sheepish herself. She reclined back on her elbows and blew a stray lock of chestnut brown hair out of her eyes. "Right. Go ahead, Doctor. And, um… sorry. I get a little caught up in things sometimes."

"There is no need to apologize," he said as he moved an ortho tray into position "I have been known to get… caught up in things myself. I should formally introduce myself. I am Shovar, of the House of Kretahl."

Why, he wondered as he readied the osteoregenerator, had he chosen to name himself in the Klingon fashion?

Shovar turned back to the bed and felt his pulse begin to race again at the smile the woman was giving him. He had not seen before, in the dimmed emergency lighting, what a rich shade of brown her eyes were. Their color reminded him of the dark and cool primeval forests near his place of birth.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Doctor Shovar," she said as she extended a hand towards him. "I'm Miral Paris."

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Coming next week! Support System


End file.
